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TWENTY-FIVE

STANTON FOREST

Disoriented, Mason Margos, the Ice Pick, blinked eyes filled with dust and tried to straighten. Somehow, he’d fallen sideways on the sofa and the top of his head was resting on the floor. Pain shot through his temples and his stomach rolled with even the slightest movement. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he moved a dry tongue around a dryer mouth, tasting spew, and yet he couldn’t recall vomiting at any time during the evening. In fact, he couldn’t remember the evening. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of smoke, and slowly the events over last night dropped into place. Holding his head to prevent it from rolling off his shoulders, he turned slowly to look at Callahan and Romero, stretched out on the filthy rug in front of the hearth with bottles of moonshine clutched in their hands.

Muted sunlight pushed through the smoke-filled air and cut into his corneas like knives. He quickly looked away as a rush of nausea gripped him. Where was the woman? “Kitty kitty, get your ass in here.”

Shouting split his head in two and he groaned in agony, but no sound came from the bedroom or the kitchen. Staggering to his feet, Margos kicked Romero and Callahan to wake them. “Wake up. The woman has gone. She’ll be able to bring the sheriff’s men right here. We need to leave now.”

Moans and complaints greeted him, and it took two more kicks to get them fully awake. He found a water dispenser in the kitchen, poured a cup, and drank greedily. The cool water slid down his parched throat like honey. He splashed his face in the kitchen sink and hunted for provisions. As he threw a few things into a box, a bunch of keys hanging on a peg by the door caught his attention. He grinned at seeing a key fob with the name Ford written on it. “Move it! We gotta leave now. From the smoke, the fire could be heading this way.” He grabbed the keys, the supplies, a rifle and ammo he’d found earlier and then headed for the back door.

“I ain’t going anywhere until I’ve had a drink.” Callahan grabbed him by the arm. “You sent me out to lock the cops inside the cabin last night. No one is going to be chasing us. That place was secure and no one would have gotten out alive.”

Turning slowly and eyeballing him, Margos waved a hand around the room. “I don’t care about them. The woman escaped and she’ll be on her way to town to tell them exactly where we are. They could be waiting out front for us right now ready to take us down.”

“Listen to him, Callahan.” Romero went to the sink and stuck his head under the tap. He shook his head like a dog before turning, grabbing a cup, and taking his fill of water. With fluid running down his chin, his dark eyes settled on Callahan. “Drink some water and let’s get the heck out of here.”

Holding up the keys triumphantly, Margos smiled. “It looks like we have a ride into town.” He looked at Romero. “Souza made provisions for us to get to a pickup point. Call the big man and tell him we’re ready to leave this place.” He pushed open the back door and headed down the steps.

The only building standing in the small yard was a barn. Margos pushed open the doors and inside discovered an older-model Ford pickup. He climbed behind the wheel, inserted the key, and the engine roared into life. He smiled as the others piled into the truck. “The gas tank is full. Now we just have to find our way out of this darn forest.”

“I guess you just head in the opposite direction of the smoke.” Callahan leaned casually against the door, his fingers running the length of a carving knife he’d taken from a block in the kitchen. He turned his head toward Romero as he disconnected from his call. “What did he say?”

“I never got to speak to Souza.” Romero’s expression changed from excitement to anger. “He said we needed to split up and hang around town and he’d contact us as soon as possible.”

“Our photos will be spread all over the news by now.” Callahan’s eyes bore into Margos. “We’ll need to split the cash and go our separate ways. They’ll be looking for three guys.”

They’d found money at both properties. The first old man had a roll of bills in a coffee can on a shelf, the other kept his stash in his nightstand. They had over six hundred dollars. Margos flicked him a glance. “Sure, but I figure we’ll be fine. We planned for this and we’ve changed our appearance since the mug shots. Most men in these parts have beards and we have shades and ball caps or cowboy hats. We’ll fit in just fine. They don’t know we took clothes from the cabins, and they’ll be looking out for men in prison garb.”

Margos turned the truck onto the narrow two-track dirt road and headed downhill. Thick smoke curled its way through the trees and masked anyone there. Convinced no one would know they’d taken the truck, he decided to take the backroads. By avoiding the highways and possible roadblocks, once they arrived in town they could melt into the local population. He had some knowledge of Black Rock Falls. It was a tourist destination, with people coming for the whitewater rapids, fishing, and hiking. Then there was the rodeo circuit and other festivals throughout the year. Strangers, it seemed, were welcome in town. “We have our phones. I’m sure we can survive for a few days. The money we discovered will keep us going for a time. Just keep a low profile until we can get away cleanly.”

“I figure we should drive to the next town, where no one will be looking for us.” Callahan sneered at him. “We could be walking into a trap.”

Margos wondered how these men had managed to outwit the cops for so long before being captured. All their suggestions would make it easier for the cops to find them. His idea to burn the FBI agents and deputies alive had been pure genius. He shook his head, unable to understand how come these idiots didn’t see the problem of hitting the highway. “What’s the first thing the cops would do when they knew we’d escaped?”

“I ain’t playing twenty questions with you.” Callahan blew out a long sigh.

Shrugging, Margos kept his attention on the road ahead. “The first thing they’d do is set up roadblocks. If we try and leave the county, they’ll catch us. It’s what they would be expecting us to do, so we have to do the opposite. This is why Souza wasn’t caught for over fifteen years. He made one stupid mistake and that was to go to a meet personally. In his business, all he needs to do is to sit tight and direct traffic. If the guys he sends walk into a trap, he has another hundred waiting in line to take their places. The last place they’ll look for us is in Black Rock Falls. If they find kitty, she’ll tell them what we wanted her to know. She’ll tell them we’re heading for Louan.” He chuckled. “Them cops are gonna be running all over the place.”

“How are you planning to get past any roadblocks into town?” Romero looked at him through the rearview mirror. “You mentioned you’ve never been here before.”

He realized in that moment that these men had been imprisoned for twenty years or more and didn’t understand technology. “You recall I showed you how to use the GPS on the phone? Well, we’ll use the same map, to find our way via the backroads to Black Rock Falls. Why don’t you give it a try now? Turn on your phone and ask it to show you a scenic route to the town of Black Rock Falls.”

After a few tries, Romero’s phone displayed the map. He laughed hysterically when the GPS gave directions. Margos flicked a glance at him. “There you go. It will connect you with both of us as well if you ask it. You can use the contacts if you like, same as you did when you called Souza, but these days all you have to do is speak.”

“What do you mean?” Romero’s eyes flashed. “Are you messing with me?”

“Ask your phone to call me.” Callahan turned in his seat to look at him. “Try it. Phones do everything now.”

“Okay, but if you’re messing with me, this ain’t gonna be a good day for you.” Romero spoke into his phone and seconds later Callahan’s phone rang.

“Hello.” Callahan grinned at him. “Cool, huh?”

The idea of being out in public again concerned Margos as well. He gripped the steering wheel. “Many things will be different. They have a different code of conduct, more rigid, especially toward women. You can’t tell them they look nice or hold open a door for them.”

“What?” Romero raised both eyebrows. “I had an interview with that psychologist woman for her book. She asked me some weird questions, man. She wanted to know the reason I murdered, and how it made me feel.” He sniggered. “I told her it made me feel good.”

“What reason did you give her for killing?” Callahan picked the dirt out of his nails with the tip of his knife. “She asked me the same questions and I told her I don’t need a reason. She came up with a few medical explanations why I’m like the way I am.”

“She was surprised when I told her I didn’t believe I was any different from anyone else.” Romero shrugged. “It’s obvious that hundreds of thousands of people go missing never to be found, so there are people out there just like me clearing out the rotten fruit. I’m no different to a trashman.” He met Margos’ eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is that the same as what you feel? It’s not something I’ve discussed with any of the inmates.”

It had been some years ago since behavioral analyst Jo Wells had arrived at the prison to speak to various people. Margos looked from one to the other. “I didn’t think we needed to explain anything. We did the crime and we’re doing the time. We all have our own reasons. I figure the general consensus would be that we only kill people who deserve to die. For me, there’s always someone out there who looks at me the wrong way, as if they’re better than I am.”

“For me, it’s those women who look at you as if they’re all that and when you ask them out for a drink, they look at you as if you’ve got two heads.” Callahan twirled the knife in his fingers. “I got my name by wringing their scrawny necks, but I figure I might change now I’m out.” He waved the knife across his throat. “Maybe I’ll leave them with a smile?” He chuckled. “From ear to ear.”

Laughing, Margos slapped the steering wheel. “Nice, and what about you, Romero? What’s this rotten fruit you talk about? Come on man, you can’t leave a person hanging.”

“They make out like I killed every woman I met.” Romero wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I used to be a handyman in a number of apartment buildings. You would be surprised how many of the women would give me the come-on.” He lifted his hands in the air and dropped them in frustration. “It was always the married women. They were lounging at home eating candies and watching soap operas while their husbands were out working to make ends meet. It happened to me, so I figured it shouldn’t happen to anyone else.” He shrugged. “I took out the rotten fruit, is all.”

“The thing is, they bring it upon themselves and someone has to teach them a lesson, right?” Callahan’s mouth twitched into a wide smile. “When Ms. Wells asked me how it made me feel, I wanted to tell her it made me feel mighty fine, but I told her it made me sick to my stomach and I’m ashamed of what I did because that’s what she wanted to hear. That’s what they all want to hear. They figure, by locking us up, it will make us stop killing. Well, they’re right, aren’t they? I can tell you I looked everywhere but I couldn’t find a woman cheating on her husband inside them prison walls.”

Nodding, Margos turned onto a narrow blacktop, and after traveling for ten minutes, they came to a sign at a crossroads that indicated they’d arrived in Black Rock Falls. He turned onto the highway. “Ah, that must be the town just ahead. While I’m waiting for Souza to contact me, I might just find me some rotten fruit.”